Days on which there are things to be said about the materialistic
world stifling the higher mind and blocking human evolution, about the magic to
be found in sensing what the sensory faculties miss, about the need to obey new
personal truths as we find them along the path, about the meaning of anam cara.
But then a combination of fatigue and the insidious systems
devised by those who would be rich and powerful blocked every attempt to say
them.
How fortunate that I dislike being earnest.
(I’m too tired to know whether I should post this or not. I
expect I will.)
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